


Oh No, He's Hot

by GretchenSinister



Series: My Top 10 Blacksand Kinkmeme Fics [6]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, Macro/Micro, Size Difference, giant Pitch tiny Sandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "*stomps in and points at title* Why is there no real size kink on this meme yet!? I proclaim it must be had!Anything goes! Godzilla penis to micro penis. Actual character size differences made clearer. Shrinking or growing of the full body (like from adult to teen-ish or vice versa).Anon doesn’t mind any pairing others want to use. Can be serious, fluffy, cracky, lovey-dovey or any general happy feels. No angst, no non/dub-con.The important thing is to have fun with it! *swirls out dramatically*"I skipped a prompt to get to this. Because it was my birthday and I told myself I could write whatever I wanted.And apparently what I wanted was giant!Pitch where Sandy fits comfortably in his hand.*puts hands on hips and laughs*But seriously. Sandy goes to Pitch’s lair for some vague reason, Pitch is a giant and I forgot to explain why, WHATEVER. It doesn’t matter. Sandy thinks giant!Pitch is totally hot and Pitch thinks he’s in control.
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Series: My Top 10 Blacksand Kinkmeme Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654639
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Blacksand Short Fics





	Oh No, He's Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 8/28/2013.

While Sandy knew it was ill-advised to seek Pitch out before their cyclic truce began once more, he had been hearing some odd rumors about the Nightmare King and thought it might be important to check on him to make sure he wasn’t planning anything too dastardly. So he mentally prepared himself for their probable fight, practiced forming weapons out of dreamsand, and made his way down to Pitch’s lair, confident that it wouldn’t be too much trouble to deal with him, no matter what he was up to.  
  
At first, when he entered the lair, he was puzzled. He could sense Pitch’s presence, but it seemed diffused, and the shape of the cavern appeared to have changed somehow, though the fact that he was the only source of light made this difficult to determine. Then, to his great astonishment, what he had taken to be cavern walls and stone outcroppings _moved_ , resolving themselves into a vast human figure. A low, rumbling laugh filled the caves, and, floating upwards to the source, Sandy soon found himself face to face with Pitch, now gargantuan in size.  
  
“You realize you’re breaking the truce by coming in here now,” Pitch said. “But I can’t say that I mind, seeing that I currently have the advantage.”  
  
Sandy stared at Pitch, aware that his mouth was hanging open but not feeling like he was able to do anything about it. Even forming coherent sand-speech took a few attempts, which led to a giant, yet unreadable grin forming on Pitch’s face.  
  
 _Prove it,_ he eventually managed to say.  
  
Pitch’s grin vanished. “You cheeky little man.” He brought up his hands to catch Sandy where he was floating. The little dreamweaver fit quite comfortably in one of Pitch’s huge palms and he stayed there once caught, not so much out of fear that Pitch would swat him back if he tried to fly away, but out of the feeling that, after being cradled on Pitch’s warm palm and reclining against his long fingers, he would probably just drop like a stone or not be able to fly straight for days.  
  
Stars, but this situation was embarrassing. Obviously a broken truce meant a fight, but that was honestly the last thing on Sandy’s mind right now. Sure, he had known Pitch was handsome in an abstract sort of way, and he had absently admired his height in comparison to his own, but now? So much exaggerated? What a time to realize—  
  
“I could do anything I wanted to you right now,” Pitch murmured, bringing the hand holding Sandy closer to his face. It’s nice of him to be so courteous to my ears, Sandy thought, but he could swear that he could feel the vibrations of the low, considering tone Pitch used all through his body, and that didn’t help things at all.   
  
Then Pitch did another very unhelpful thing by running his sharp thumbnail gently along the soft curve of Sandy’s cheek with a little hum of curiosity. Sandy tried to look defiant, but he was sure that the effect was ruined by the fact that he was now blushing violently.  
  
“How interesting,” Pitch said, a smirk beginning to form on his face. “You’re not exactly afraid of me taking you apart, are you? Though I think I could…but that might not be as…mmm…fascinating…as other things.” He began to press his thumb into Sandy’s shoulder in small circles, wearing away the golden sand of his robe.  
  
Sandy knew he shouldn’t let Pitch do that. He knew he could get away. He was the Sandman, after all, and Pitch was still just Pitch. But—oh—Pitch had reached the bare skin now, and without consciously choosing to do so, Sandy adjusted his position on Pitch’s hand so that his thumb could really work his shoulder joint.   
  
Whatever face one was _supposed_ to make while getting a massage from one’s archenemy, Sandy was sure he was not making it. He sighed—still soundlessly, he wasn’t that far gone—but Pitch noticed, and his smirk started to soften. “Of course you need this,” he said to himself, beginning to work Sandy's other shoulder with his other thumb. “With all that whip work. Why did you never mention this during the truces?”  
  
 _Kind of a funny thing to ask for,_ Sandy managed to sign.  
  
“Oh? I can think of much stranger things.” Pitch brushed the rest of Sandy’s robes away. “Though maybe you didn’t want to risk me marring your—hmm—pretty golden skin. Stars—”   
  
Sandy blushed again under the scrutiny of that great lambent gaze.  
  
“—you’re perfect.” Pitch trailed one finger down Sandy’s side. “Smooth as satin. Pure as cream.” He allowed the thumb of the hand holding Sandy to run across his chest, used a finger of his free hand to trace a circle around Sandy’s round little belly. “Or maybe not so pure, little peach.” The finger that had been caressing his belly moved slightly lower to lightly touch the tip of Sandy’s erection, which jerked upwards at the contact.  
  
Sandy covered his burning face with his hands. He couldn’t think of a single thing to sign that made any sense.   
  
“Just what sort of delights are you expecting?” Pitch practically purred. “It’s not the truce. I should tell the other Guardians how you reacted to being at the mercy of the monster in his lair.”  
  
 _You—_ No, Pitch would do that. _You haven’t learned how to avoid getting your wrists wrapped in my whips when we fight after over four hundred years. And I know you’re not stupid._  
  
“Touché. And another thing you should maybe have mentioned during the previous truces.”  
  
Sandy removed his hands from his face just in time to see Pitch lick his lips. He bent his head down, lifted his hand, and pressed a delicate kiss to Sandy’s body before leaning back to look appreciatively at his golden bauble once more.  
  
 _So—so what are you going to do?_ What a way to discover such kisses were possible! He squirmed a bit on Pitch’s hand and the giant smiled.  
  
“Why, I think I’ll play with you for a little while.” And then Pitch’s fingers returned to Sandy’s sides, front, back, exploring every smooth curving plane, examining the arms and legs that appeared like the detail work of a master goldsmith from the perspective of enlarged eyes, allowing the tiny tongue and teeth to lap and nip at a pinky fingertip. Pitch pressed and pinched his little plaything with utmost care, becoming more and more enamored of every unguarded gasp and miniature toe curl of the Sandman with each passing minute. When Sandy reached for his cock, though, Pitch captured his hands easily and held them over his head with two fingers.   
  
“I must try to thwart you when we are not at truce, mustn’t I?” Pitch murmured, before giving a low chuckle and quickly licking his middle finger. He brought it up, ever so slowly, between Sandy’s thighs and against the underside of his length. It was oddly satisfying to see and feel his old enemy, the only one he had ever feared and would ever fear, contained in his palm, face screwed up in pleasure, helplessly rutting against his hand. But he could undo Sandy completely, couldn’t he?   
  
He wondered if Sandy would have been afraid to see the smile that appeared on his face before his tongue and lips joined the work of his fingers, greedier than them by far, for it was through them that Pitch discovered that dear little Sandy was sweeter than any dream he crafted.  
  
When Sandy came, he came moaning Pitch’s name. As Pitch milked him through the aftershocks solely with a muscular tongue that then licked him clean, he belatedly clapped one hand over his mouth, the rest of his sated expression and disheveled appearance making it clear that he was not currently in a state to care too much about breaking his silence.   
  
Sandy curled up on his side on Pitch’s hand and looked up at his huge face with half-lidded eyes and a somewhat guilty smile.  
  
“All right, you win,” Pitch said. “I can’t threaten to tell anyone else about this. It’s too delectable a secret.” Sandy laughed silently as Pitch smoothed a fingertip through his hair, the usual spikes ruined and more than a few strands clinging to the skin around his ears and the back of his neck with sweat.  
  
The little dreamweaver pushed himself up to stand on shaky legs and called his robes back to him. He drew a door in the air just off Pitch’s hand. Recognizing it as a way to Dreamland, Pitch pulled his hand back. “What are you doing? This is my realm!”  
  
 _Calm down._ Sandy yawned. _I don’t feel like flying back to the surface now._  
  
“Oh.” Pitch gave Sandy his best wicked grin and moved his hand back to the air near the door. “So should I expect to see you again as soon as the truce starts?”  
  
Sandy returned him a grin that was, though much smaller, perhaps even more wicked. _Why, of course, Pitch._ He formed a dreamsand whip and wrapped it around Pitch’s thumb. _But I expect to be able to play with you for a little while then, too._


End file.
